Petals of Moonlight
by LoveTheBoyWithTheBread
Summary: Post Mockingjay Gale/Johanna fic.  For Kate.  Merry Christmas.


**Disclaimer: No, just...no.**

**Merry Christmas all! :D.  
**

* * *

For some reason, when I close my eyes, Katniss is all I can see.

Sunlight shines through the trees, and she's coming towards me in a slightly tattered white dress, holding a bouquet of roses, their petals streaming down around her feet. Our families are surrounding us, and everyone is blissfully happy, smiles alighting their faces. But my eyes are only for Katniss. Her usual scowl has deserted her, and she's looking at me like she's in love. Really, truly in love. With me. I see our entire wedding pan out in my head. I see the toasting. And I see myself, looking just as happy as everyone else.

But I can't feel it. I can't feel the happiness and I can't feel any love for Katniss. Not a single, solitary drop. Nothing more than friendship; nothing more than admiration for her strength.

And then I open my eyes, and that feeling-that emotion-comes flooding back to me. Pouring in great streams all through my bloodstream, coursing with every beat of my heart. And somehow I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.

* * *

Memories are scary things. They can be so easily altered, so simply corrupted until you look at someone you used to feel as if you could lay down your life for, and all you want to do is strangle them. Don't believe me? Just ask Peeta. It's a constant struggle for him. At least, it used to be. I haven't spoken to Mellark in over five years now. In fact, I haven't spoken to nearly anyone from my past. Oh sure, a few stray soldiers that I went to war with in the Great Rebellion. We've stayed in contact because we're working together.

Then there's her. Before her, I never knew that a single person could evoke such strong feelings in me. And so different than I've ever experienced before. There's no tinge of rage, no jealousy, no secret hatred, and no urge to kidnap her. That was the worst part about my old feelings for Katniss: the strange need to take her and _make_ her love me. To force her to see things from my point of view. I don't feel that anymore. Now, everything I want is being given to me.

Sure, there's still fighting. What kind of relationship would it be if everything was perfect all the time? Boring. And with our personalities...well, let's just say there is an occasional clashing of opinions. But somehow it's still beautiful. She can scream her head off at me, and I can kick a tree so hard that I break my foot (on two separate occasions), but afterwards, I still want to take her into my arms and never let her go. And the most amazing thing: she never, ever pulls away.

It has something to do with chemicals, I guess. I'm not very knowledgeable on that front, but I think that some scientists figured out that all love is is an addiction to the feelings you experience when you're around a person. They call it quantum physics or some such nonsense. I'm not sure I believe it. I think I'd be in love with her no matter what feelings she gave me. After all, her cold shoulder drives me crazy.

But no matter how much I love her, I still connect weddings to Katniss. I always will, I suppose, no matter how many other weddings I attend, with different brides than Katniss, and different bridegrooms than myself. Naturally, I'll never be married to her. She will never be Mrs. Katniss Hawthorne. I'm happy with that. I am so incredibly pleased by this strange outcome of a series of events that I had barely any control over. Of course I'm sad that Prim died; I loved her. But I can't help but connect her sacrifice to my newfound happiness, and my newfound life without Katniss.

* * *

"Gale?" She's standing there, staring at me. But she's not wearing a white dress; she's just wearing trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. She's not smiling at me; there's a smug look on her face. The sun isn't shining on us, and she isn't holding flowers. Instead, petals of moonlight seep down around us, lighting up her brown eyes so that even through her superior look, I can still see that she cares for me.

If this, in my backyard, was the setting for our wedding, I would be happy. So deliriously happy.

It's not though. She never wants to get married. And strangely, even though I had always imagined myself as a husband and a father, I'm okay with that. It must be because of the connection my mind has made between weddings and Katniss. I think that she has realized the connection as well, because when I cautiously brought up wedding traditions, her eyes turned into bricks, and her body went cold. My girl isn't really the jealous type, but she definitely harbors some hard feelings towards the Mockingjay.

"What is it?" I ask her, and my voice is soft. My voice is always strangely soft when I'm around her, even when I'm yelling. Everyone hears it, and the guys tend to give me "looks" whenever I use that voice. To be honest, I probably wouldn't use it on her in public if I could help it, but I really can't keep it from being cushioned when I look at her.

She starts walking towards me, then runs. It's like everything stops for a moment; my heartbeat is frozen in time. Then the world spins into fast forward and she's flying into my arms, and we're toppling over on the grass and wrestling with each other in a playful way that is also competitive. Everything we do is competitive.

Then her lips are crushing against mine, and bombs explode behind my eyelids, first white, then pink, then a shocking blood red that terrifies me as much as it excites me. But somehow, through the fire, I remember she hasn't answered my question.

"Were you going to ask me something?"

She turns pink in an uncharacteristic blush, and turns her eyes from mine. Burying her head in my chest, she whispers against my shirt, "Gale, why are we here?"

It's the strangest question I have been asked hitherto, and I'm not sure which here she means. A thousand interpretations dribble their ways through my mind, until I settle on one that I am content with.

"We're here because we're meant to be, Johanna," I tell her, pulling her tighter against my chest. "We're here because I love you."

* * *

**For Kate of Carlay. Darling Kate, I hope you enjoyed this. Merry Christmas! Let me know how you felt about it! I hope it wasn't too cheesy for you!**

**-Mel  
**


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